In deep sorrow, he turned and looked forward to the open sea. But tears blinded him, and he could see nothing of the entrance.
Ronnie said: 'May I work the rudder, Mr Howard?'
The old man did not answer him. The little boy repeated his question.
Rose said: 'I do feel sick.'
He roused himself and turned to their immediate needs with heavy heart. They had no warm clothes and no blankets to keep off the chill of the night sea. He spoke a few sentences to Focquet and found him mystified at their deliverance; he found that the young man intended to cross straight over to Falmouth. He had no compass and no chart for the sea crossing of a hundred miles or so, but said he knew the way. He thought that it would take a day and a night, perhaps a little longer. They had no food with them, but he had a couple of bottles of red, wine and a beaker of water.
They pulled a sail out from the forepeak and made a resting-place for the children. The old man took Anna and made her comfortable in a corner first, and put her in the charge of Rose. But Rose, for once, displayed little of her maternal instinct; she was preoccupied with her own troubles.
In a very few minutes she was sick, leaning over the side of the boat under the old man's instructions. One by one the children followed her example as they reached the open sea; they passed Le Trepied, a black reef of rock, with so much wailing that they might just as well have had the engine running after all. In spite of the quick motion of the boat the old man did not feel unwell. Of the children, the only one unaffected was Pierre, who stood by Focquet at the stern, gazing at the moonlight on the water ahead of them.
They turned at the Libenter buoy and headed to the north. In a lull between the requirements of the children Howard said to Focquet: 'You are sure that you know which way to steer?'
The young Frenchman nodded. He glanced at the moon and at the dim loom of the land behind them, and at the Great Bear shimmering in the north. Then he put out his hand. That way,' he said. 'That is where Falmouth is.' He called it 'Fallmoot.'
'In the morning we will use the engine; then we will get there before evening.'
A fresh wailing from the bows drew the old man away. An hour later most of the children were lying exhausted in an uneasy doze; Howard was able to sit down himself and rest. He glanced back at the land. It was practically lost to sight; only a dim shadow showed where France lay behind them. He stared back at Brittany with deep regret, in bitter lonely sadness. With all his heart he wished that he was back there with Nicole.
Presently he roused himself. They were not home yet; he must not give way to depression. He got up restlessly and stared around. There was a steady little night breeze from the south-east; they were making about four knots.
'It is going well,' said Focquet. 'If this wind holds we shall hardly need the engine.'
The young fisherman was sitting on a thwart smoking a caporal. He glanced back over his shoulder. 'To the right,' he said, without moving. 'Put it this way. So. Keep her at that, and look always at your star.'
The old man became aware that little Pierre was at the helm, thrusting with the whole weight of his body on the big tiller. He said to Focquet: 'Can that little one steer a boat?'
The young man spat into the sea. 'He is learning. He is quick, that one. It prevents sea-sickness, to sail the ship. By the tune that we reach England he will be a helmsman.'
The old man turned to Pierre. 'You can do that very well,' he said. 'How do you know which way to go?'
In the; dim light of the waning moon he saw Pierre staring straight ahead. 'Focquet told me,' he replied. The old man had to strain to catch his little voice above the lapping of the waves. 'He said, to sail at those square stars up there.' He raised his little arm and pointed at the Bear. 'That is where we are going to, m'sieur. That is the way to America, under those stars. There is so much food there that you can give some to a dog and have him for your friend. Mademoiselle Nicole told me so.'
Presently he grew tired; the boat began to wander from the Bear. Focquet threw the stump of his cigarette into the sea and routed out a heap of sacking. Howard took the helm and the young man arranged a sleepy little boy on the floor beside their feet. After a time Focquet lay down himself on the bare boards and slept for an hour while the old irian sailed the boat on through the starlight.
All night they saw no ships at all on the sea. Ships may have been near them, but if so they were sailing without lights and did not trouble them. But in the half-light of dawn, at about half-past four, a destroyer came towards them from the west, throwing a deep feathery bow wave of white foam aside as she cut through the water, bearing down on them.
She slowed a quarter of a mile away and turned from a grey, menacing spear into rather a battered, rusty ship, menacing still, but worn with much hard work. A young man in duffle coat and service cap shouted at them from the bridge, megaphone in hand: 'Vous êtes Français?'
Howard shouted back: 'Some of us are English.'
The young man waved at him cheerfully. 'Can you get to Plymouth all right?'
'We want to go to Falmouth.' The whine of the destroyer's fans and the lapping of the waves made conversation difficult.
'You've got to go to Plymouth. Plymouth! Is that all right for you?'
Howard spoke quickly to Focquet, and then nodded to the ship. The young officer waved at him again and stepped back. There was a sudden foaming of the stern and the destroyer shot away on her course up-Channel. They were left tossing in the creamy effervescence of her wake.
They altered course two points towards the east and started up the engine, giving them about six knots of speed. The children roused, and in failing misery began to vomit again. They were all cold, and very tired, and desperately hungry.
Presently the sun came up and the day grew warm. The old man gave them all a little drink of wine and water.
All morning they plugged on over a sunlit, summer sea. Now and again the young Frenchman asked Howard the time, studied the sun, and made a correction to his course. At noon a thin blue line of land appeared ahead of them to the north.
At about three o'clock a trawler closed them, and asked who they were, and, as they tossed beside her, showed them the high land of Rame Head on the horizon.
At about half-past five they were off Rame Head. A motor-launch, a little yacht in time of peace, ranged up alongside them; an RNVR lieutenant questioned them again. 'You know the Cattewater?' he shouted to Howard. 'Where the flying boats are? That's right. Go up there and into the basin on the north side. All refugees land at the fish quay in the basin. Got that? Okay.'
The launch sheered off and went on her way. The fishing-boat nosed in past Rame Head, past Cawsand, past the breakwater into the shelter of the Sound. Ahead of them lay Plymouth on its hills, grey and peaceful by its harbour in the evening sunlight. Howard stared at it and sighed a little. It seemed to him that he had been happier in France than he would be in his own land.
The sight of the warships in the Sound, the land, and the calmer water revived the children a little; they began to look about and take an interest again. Under the old man's guidance Focquet threaded his way through the warships; off Drake's Island they came to the wind and lowered the brown sail. Then, under engine only, they made their way to the fish quay.